00:15
by teawithmilk
Summary: [2012-verse, AU] It's past midnight, and April is alone, waiting for the one brother she never expected to turn traitor.


**[a/n] So this is based off of an AU by nodelinquent going around Tumblr where Leo betrays his brothers and joins the Foot. Then she requested that Donatello be the one to turn, as well. And this was the result.**

**Turtles = nickelodeon.**

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**-00:15-**

It's past midnight, and April is alone.

She's standing on top of a building overlooking Columbus Park, and she's expecting a fight as she scans her phone again.

**A quarter after midnight. Be alone. Don't be late.**

So like a good ninja, she arrives early, to scope it out, to know the ground. There's no skylight, and the roof is flat, covered in bitumen and pebble-dash - her footing will be secure. There's a fire-escape down to street-level to make a quick getaway. It's two blocks either way to the Subway. The street's not deserted, but there's enough people to act as a deterrent. If worst comes to worst, she can book it to One Police Plaza.

She's prepared, at least, for what could be the worst.

From the edge of the building, somebody clears their throat, and April checks her phone.

It's a quarter after midnight, and now April is not alone.

A group of Foot fan out along the edge of the building, and in the shadows cast by the streetlights, their silhouettes all look the same.

All except one.

His shape is hulking compared to the lithe, thin humans at his sides, and his eyes glow white in the dark. His poise is deliberate; hands loose and relaxed at his sides, shoulders straight, head up, and really, she hadn't known what she was expecting.

Except she had. She had expected him to be like Leo had, shoulders cowed in shame and dishonour, big wide eyes looking for understanding, for _help_.

When Donatello steps into the light, though, his men at his back, it's with a calm, slow confidence. He's in control here - and he knows it.

He doesn't wear any clothes; even his old bandanna is gone, leaving his face open. His wraps are all clean, white linen as opposed to stained, as clean as a life underground could keep them. His bō staff looks new, and his sash is no longer the worn, familiar brown leather, and instead it's black, with a crisp white footprint stamped on the leather, right above his heart.

She can't speak. The cold run of betrayal slides through her veins, and April steps back, away from him.

Donatello gives a bitter smile. "So it's okay for Leo?" he asks, but it's more than clear he doesn't care about any answer she gives. He's only saying this to give her something to tell his brothers - something for Raph to hang on to like a pitbull. It's not Donatello's real reason at all.

"Leo came back," she replies.

He _hmm_s at that, but doesn't say anything else and _this is not Donnie_, she thinks.

"You told me to come alone," she points out, and tilts her head towards his little entourage. He follows her gaze with cold brown eyes as if to say, _and?_, so she clarifies. "Kind of unfair."

He doesn't shrug, but she can hear it in his voice. "I didn't actually expect you to listen," he replies honestly. He doesn't look around, but he and his brothers had always had a sort-of sixth sense about each-other that she had never been able to understand. He knows they're not here. "It's okay," he adds softly, and _there!_ There's Donatello, _her Donnie_, in the gentleness of the tone, in the shift in his eyes. "I just want to talk."

She gives another significant look to the Foot at his back, but he doesn't do anything; they're here to stay. Here to watch. Here to listen.

Does the Shredder not trust Donatello?

Or does Donatello not trust himself?

She squares her shoulders: _eleven on one, I'm not taking these odds_. She takes another step back, Donatello follows, and holds up a hand to stop his followers from crowding them. "So talk."

"I—" he begins, then stops. There's Donnie again, a tiny crack in his demeanour Then it's gone. "How's school?"

It's deliberate. It's a _game_. He won't ask about his family. She won't tell him unless he asks.

"Good," she replies tersely. "I got into college."

"In New York?"

"Columbia." _Why are you doing this?_

"Ivy League. Pretty good."

"Pretty expensive." She folds her arms. "How's the Foot?" she asks, and his gaze lowers, wary. "What, I thought you wanted to talk, so _let's talk_."

"I wanted to talk about _you_. April, I—"

She cuts him off. "No. Let's talk, Donatello. How's the Foot? How's Karai? How's _Shredder_? You know, the guy who tried to _murder your father_ and _blow up your brothers_. What about those two goons who liked to _tie me up in a van_ half the time when I was sixteen? Because I would _really_ like to know how they are."

He doesn't answer, and this is wrong - wrong, wrong, _wrong_, this _can't _be Donatello. She looks at the other ninjas again, and snorts. "Is that what you're going to do, Donnie?"

"No!" He looks affronted at even the thought. "I told you, I didn't think that— that you _wouldn't_ tell the others. I was expecting a fight."

"You don't trust me?"

His voice is heavy when he replies, "You more than anyone," but she files it away for later. "I wanted to see how you were doing; that's all."

"Well, I'm fine. Everyone's fine."

It's a lie, but with him like this she can't decide which is the best tactic to run with: tell him everybody is fine without him - and risk his jealousy and stoke his determination to stay. Tell him the truth, and find out that it's what he wanted all along.

"Okay. What about—"

"_Why won't you come back_?"

The vehemence surprises them both, Donatello's head jerks back slightly in surprise, as though expecting that she would have asked something else. Of course she cares about the _why he left_ - but there's a question more important than that: "Why won't you come back?" she asks again.

"Because I'm tired of hiding."

It's honest; she has to give him at least that. Donnie was always a terrible liar, only convincing when he managed to weave a story by lawyering the truth.

So if Donatello isn't lying, then that means that—

That means that that's _all_?

She doesn't have time to call the others. She knows she can't take on Donatello and ten Foot (Feet?) by herself. But she can't forgive this. Not after Leo; not after she knows that _he knows_ how much Leo's turnabout hurt his family. Hurt _her _family.

She reaches behind herself for the fan, tucked up in her waistband, and he closes up, face shuttering, and he _laughs_ at her: a short, sharp "_hah_!" barked out of his throat, and it doesn't suit him. It's not how she remembers him at all, soft chest-borne chuckling that warmed her, that made him seem soft and welcoming. She flares her weapon anyway, and he steps forward. "April, please. You have exactly two options: you can take me on weapon-to-weapon, or you can throw it at me, _miss_, and then try hand-to-hand." In what light there is, she can see his eyes flick to her wrist, and the subtext is obvious: _I could break that without even trying. Don't humiliate yourself_.

_Don't waste my time_.

"I wanted to _talk_."

And suddenly, she understands. Even amid his fluster, his gentle, honest attempts to hold a conversation about her, this was not meant to be a casual talk. This is not a cry for help. He wanted this. Wanted her to see him, and to report back. He has her all figured out.

Donatello wants to talk, and she wants to _hurt him_. Wants to hurt him the way he's hurt his brothers; the way he's hurt his father; the way he's hurt _her_.

"Sorry," April quips tersely. "I don't talk to strangers."

She doesn't know what she's expecting when she makes a leap for the fire escape. Him to chase her, maybe. To catch her wrist and pull her back to him, his shell hard against her spine and his arms fast around her. To yell, "April, _wait_!" like she's important to him, like they do in the movies.

She wasn't expecting nothing.

She takes a wide loop home, ends up having to take the J two stops, and when she climbs through her window she's not at all surprised to see Leonardo sitting on her bed, hunched over with the tips of his fingers pressed against his lips.

Of course he knows.

He doesn't say anything when he reaches for her, pulls her into his lap, nudges his head under her chin and just breathes. He doesn't say anything at all.

April wants to talk, though, so she talks.

—end—

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[a/n] I regret nothing.


End file.
